


Shadows

by casstayinmyass



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Dark, Dead Gaston (Disney), Eventual Smut, Gaston Being Gaston (Disney), Gaston-Centric, Ghosts, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Jealous Gaston (Disney), M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Poor Lefou (Disney), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Some Humor, Stanley Cares, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: When Gaston wakes from the fall to see Lefou crying over his body, the only logical explanation is dark magic. But... death is a lonely state of existence, and as time ticks by and the people of Villeneuve move on, he's forced to question if he'll ever be able to return and tell Lefou the truth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a Lefou-centric fic about the fall. Now it's time for a different Gaston-centric one! :) Hope you enjoy.

It was dark. Gaston couldn't see anything around him, only darkness- was he still falling?

No. Though he had no peripheral vision, he could tell there was no air breezing past him, no cold snow falling on him... then again, he still felt no impact of the cobblestone underneath the castle, which is what he feared. He truly had fallen from such height.

But if he hadn't fallen... then why couldn't he feel anything around him? His eyes must be closed, he knew that much. He waited. He waited what seemed like an eternity of weightlessness, until he couldn't wait any longer.

He opened his eyes.

Stone. He felt it underneath his fingertips. There was no sensitivity to the touch, only a strange feeling of- well, not really feeling at all. Gaston's head wasn't spinning, as it should have been from a fall that high... he was beyond amazed that his head had even stayed on his shoulders after such a fall.

Slowly feeling along his arms to make sure they were still intact- they were- he pushed himself up, and found he could still function with the virility of his days as an army captain. A frown furrowed deep in his brow, and he turned his head to see-

Tom. And Dick. And Stanley. Clothilde, Lucas, Justine, Adeline, Jean, Claude, Pierre, Penelope- everyone. They were just standing there.

"Ah... I appear to be fine, everyone," Gaston announced, prepared to ease their troubled expressions. Curiously enough, they didn't respond... only stared in horror at... Gaston's boots? "Everyone," he tried to laugh, opening his arms and grabbing at his jacket to display his durability, "Look at me! I know you care deeply for my well-being, but come now, I'm fine! A little scuffed most likely, but I'll recover!"

Then he saw Lefou. Lefou, who he'd treated so badly back in the village...

Surely, he'd get over it. He always did. He understood Gaston, understood when he acted that way. Lefou knows he didn't mean it; he knows when to pick himself back up and brush it off. But that wasn't what he was doing currently... currently, his eyes were red with tears threatening to spill as he took a few shaky steps closer to the front of the group.

"Gaston..." he murmured, almost breathlessly to the ground, and Gaston glared.

"I'm up here, Lefou!"

But Lefou still didn't heed him. He kept trudging onward, hands extended, and the tears came in full, staining his best friend's cheeks. Gaston swallowed thickly. He hated seeing Lefou so distressed, but... but he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out _why_.

"Lefou... Lefou, look at me!" Gaston ordered, dusting himself off. Surely he didn't look that bad, that his friend couldn't even look at him! Then, with a shallow breath, he realized something. Something so horrific, he couldn't bring himself to glance away.

Lefou _was_ looking at him. There on the ground, the short man knelt by Gaston's side... the hunter, unmoving, was on his back, eyes wide and unblinking toward the storming sky. Fresh red bubbled from his lips and from the deep gash running from his eye down to his chin, both legs twisted to either side of him. Lefou pressed his face down into Gaston's chest, sobbing. He was making quite a display, but it seemed to Gaston that he didn't care anymore- and if the villagers had any suspicions of Lefou's inclinations, they kept it to themselves as they mourned with him.

_Mourned his death._

Gaston himself took a step back, one hand flying to his mouth and the other to his chest.

His chest... he had no... _he had no heartbeat._

"What's..." Gaston muttered, practically tearing at his chest to feel something. He felt no pulse anywhere in his body- when he held a hand out by his face, no heavy breath graced his skin. It couldn't be so. This had to be a dream. A nightmare...

"This is sorcery!" he cried, scratching his nails down his arm as hard as he could. No indent appeared.

He looked around frantically, pushing his way through the villagers. "Stanley! You can see me, can't you?! Any of you! Tom, Dick! Answer me, you... you must answer me!!" If anybody could hear the raving man, they made no indication... just stared sadly down at Lefou, who was kneeling by his body, _his body-_

"What's happening?" the spectre cried, "Somebody, hear me! Anybody! Lefou?! LEFOU!"

He then let out a yell of rage so loud it should have shattered windows... had there been any around on this dark, rain-soaked pathway. "This is dark magic..." he muttered.

Then it clicked. That must be what this was. Why else could he walk outside his body when he wasn't truly dead? And he wasn't- he wasn't dead. He was still himself, he could feel it... but now, as it appeared, he was under some kind of curse or something, just like the inhabitants of this damned castle.

He should never have come so close to a place as evil as this- his father always taught him to stay away from the unknown, it never turned out right, and he was correct. Now, Gaston was dealing with black magic and witches, nothing he knew of or ever wanted to acquaint himself with the likes of.

The disoriented man turned away and gazed up, watching the rain bounce off the turrets above. It had been quite a fall... _quite a fall_... why had he been cursed? Why couldn't he return to his body and back to the village? He was sure the humiliation of such a defeat would be punishment enough...

But punishment for what? He had done nothing wrong- he had only been saving Belle from a spell that hideous monster had put her under. He scowled as he thought of the determination in her eyes to stop him- and now, he was cursed because of it.

How long would this last? Nobody could see him... Lefou... couldn't see him. He felt strangely weighed down by that fact- it was a peculiar realization, really, as if he were feeling some warped version of disappointment, nausea, and heartbreak that he had never experienced in this removed state of being.

Suddenly, as he attempted to discover why he was so beside himself about his friend, his head snapped back down sharply; Lefou had begun to chant something under his breath into Gaston's ear on the ground. The spectre could hear it, as if it were his own ear now. He inclined his head, frowning; he could barely make it out. It was only mumbling, and _speak up, Lefou, speak up, what are you saying, talk to me, god dammit_ -

Oh.

If Gaston had had a heart anymore, it would have stopped.

" _Gaston, don't leave me..._ _I love you_."


	2. Chapter 2

The tavern lights were lit, but very few patrons were inside. The place hadn't been the same since... that night, the night Gaston died. The barkeep, Monsieur Moreau, hadn't had the heart to close the place down, despite the urgings of some of his friends.

"Ah, Jacques," Lucas Boutin, a farmer notorious for his extramarital flirting, put a hand on his shoulder. "You've got to give it up. Business is not what it used to be. You've got him painted on the wall, for Christ sake..." He gestured over to the large mural that boasted _Gaston the hunter_. Jacques sighed as he regarded it.

"People still come in here, Lucas."

"Face it. It's not the same without him. It would be suicide to keep this place open... you've got a family to support, haven't you?" The redheaded bartender ran a hand through his hair, and looked around. It was true- back in its days, this tavern saw lively music, dancing, singing from monsieur Lefou... who rarely even came out of his home now... laughter, and cheer. Now, it only served as a reminder of the hero they had lost so terribly.

"You've got to close it up."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Gaston sputtered from his chair, standing up and pounding down on the bar, "You can't close this place. It's a tribute to my very existence!"

But he gave up with a huff after a few tries, realizing- just the same as every other time he tried- nobody would respond. Jacques gave one weathered pat to the walls, and trudged up the stairs. Something in his face told Gaston he would keep it open... people still came, despite the atmosphere, (or lack of it) and there was still money to be made.

* * *

 

One week later, he stood at his own funeral.

"In the Name of God, the merciful Father, we commit the body of Gaston Deveneaux to the peace of the grave," Pere Robert's voice carried through the whistling winds. It was a bleak day in Villeneuve, though Gaston couldn't feel the chill.

"Why are you burying me?" he scoffed, "I'm going to need my body when I find the witch who did this to me." It was infuriating to say the least that he got not one glance when he spoke- everyone used to turn their heads intently when he spoke, as if it were gospel. Gaston wasn't used to being ignored.

The hunter reluctantly took a look around. Everyone in town was here; everyone he knew. _Except..._

"Where's Lefou?" Gaston murmured, squinting. Was he at the back? He may be feeling quite vulnerable at the moment, so he could be at the back... but as he checked everywhere through the crowd, he saw no evidence of his companion.

The words returned to him.

_I love you._

_I love you._

I love you.

A terrible ringing sounded in Gaston's ears, and he winced. How could he hear such a frequency, when he didn't even have ears anymore to hear it? Or... perhaps he did, they just weren't corporeal. For the time being. Oh, this was giving him a headache trying to think so much and figure it all out- there was a reason the headmaster never liked him.

"Gaston," somebody said, and Gaston jerked his head up. Yes! At last, someone could see him, someone would-

"I knew you... and at many times, I wished I didn't." The voice belonged to Belle- she had come? _Why?_

The hunter peered through some heads, and saw her. She was dressed in common robes, hood up, with her regular old boots... but she had two palace hands behind her. Palace hands? _Was... was the beast a Prince?!_

"I thought you boorish," Belle went on. "And you were. But you were also..." she tilted her head up, almost searching for words. "A product of societal expectation." A few heads in the crowd turned, and a man beside Gaston whispered to his wife, _"What in the hell does that mean?"_ But she continued on, as she did. "What you did to my husband, I can never forget. But it's in the past... and so are you. It would have been wrong of me not to attend today, so I come to pay my respects. May you be at rest." She cleared her throat, knelt, and placed a single stem of rue on his coffin.

Rue. Gaston remembers Lefou telling him something about flowers once on a hunting excursion _... rue was for regret._

"Well, I won't rest until I rejoin the living world, Belle," Gaston growled, "Then I can thank you personally for your words."

He watched Belle rise, and assume her position by her hands as the service went on.

Tom and Dick mumbled a few tearful words, Stanley tossed some posies in, and Robert grabbed a shovel.

"I wanted Monsieur Lefou to do the honour of casting the first dirt," he proclaimed, "He knew Gaston well in life, more than anyone here. But seeing as he is not present today, I will do it. Anyone may join in the burial."

Gaston watched as everyone took turns putting him underground further and further with the soil. He had to say, it was extremely satisfying to watch everyone cry and sob over him- and so they should- but then, there was the disturbing fact that he was attending his own funeral that kept dawning on him, and souring his mood.

* * *

 

Three days later, the tavern's business had somehow increased a little more. Jacques shot Lucas a little 'I told you so' gaze, and Lucas just avoided him, turning back to his wife.

Gaston had to figure out where to find the witch who had done this to him. Perhaps if he went back to the castle...? No, there was nothing in hell that could make him return there, in fear of making this even more awful than it already was. The hunter sat in his chair, brooding.

"Lefou," he said instinctively, about to relay his troubles, then he realized as he checked over his shoulder... Lefou was sitting on the steps in the corner on his own, face down in a tankard of ale with his usually luscious hair curtained out around him. Gaston sighed to himself, weighed down by that feeling again. It hurt him to see Lefou like this... and he knew why he was so burdened now.

"Lefou?" Stanley murmured, inching his way over, "Monsieur, are you alright?"

Lefou looked up, one eye open. "Hm? Yeah, I just..." he wiped his mouth, and straightened up a little. "I'm a little..." He was slurring, and Stanley bit his lip.

"Do you need someone to help you home?"

Lefou laughed bitterly. "Gaston used to do that."

Stanley looked down, then offered an arm. "Would you... like to sit by Tom and Rich and I? Just like-"

"Don't say 'just like old times'," Lefou muttered back, "It'll never be like old times again."

Of course, he felt bad for snapping at the young man. Stanley was only offering his help, as he felt bad for Lefou, and Lefou supposed he was a sorry sight, slumped over his beer like this. But he was entitled to a little heartache- and a little space.

"You loved him."

Lefou looked up quickly, wiping the hair out of his mouth again. "What?"

Stanley was staring at him earnestly, not a hint of malice or misunderstanding in his face. "You loved him, I know."

Lefou shook his head with a scoff. No matter how obvious it was, he still wished to avoid castration and a good long sentence to jail.

"Stanley, go home."

"Lefou, I need you to know..." he reached out to take his hand, then recoiled at the last minute. "I need you to know I understand. And I'm here." He lifted his eyebrows, and Lefou swallowed. He wanted to show gratitude, he did- but nothing could bring him out of his mood right now.

"I said go home."

Stanley nodded, a little downtrodden, and over by the fire, Gaston wondered what they were talking about. He felt a flash of jealousy, and possessiveness. Now that he was "gone"... however temporarily... would that boy take the opportunity to swoop in and court his Lefou?

_Wait. His Lefou?!_

"What am I thinking?" he said aloud, giving a maniacal laugh out loud and shaking his head at the homeless man behind his chair. "My Lefou?! Ha! I must truly be going mad, sir."

The guy sitting on the ground took no notice of him, and Gaston rolled his eyes, jumping up on his chair.

"Hear that everyone?! I'VE GONE MAD!" He kicked his legs together, and accidentally sent someone's tankard flying off the table, watching it smash against the wall. The guy frowned, and the room went silent.

"What was that for?" Jacques asked, and the guy shook his head.

"I didn't do it."

More silence. Gaston narrowed his eyes as he looked around. Some people seemed disbelieving... others, looked frightened. Gaston's eyes lit up. Of course. That's how he could get people's attention!

He jumped from his chair over to the bar, where Tom, Dick, and Stanley were enjoying a round. He brought his boot down over Dick's mug, as hard as he could manage, and the tankard shattered into a billion pieces.

"You clumsy arse!" Tom muttered, but Dick's eyes were wide.

"It wasn't me! I swear it!"

Stanley's eyes were also wide, and his head was bobbing a mile a minute. "I saw it... I saw it, mon dieu, it just broke by itself!"

"Dear god," the bartender murmured, looking around. The headmaster then crossed himself, prompting many others to do the same. Gaston just scoffed.

"I'm not the bloody devil."

"It's the devil!" Paulette shrieked, huddling with her sisters in fright. Gaston rolled his eyes over to her, crossing his arms.

"And you wonder why I never fucked you."

"No!" someone else cried, "It's him! It's... it's Gaston!"

Another hush fell over the room, and Lefou looked up. Everyone looked around, as if waiting for something else to happen. Agathe, the old hag, did as well- she seemed rather unphased.

"D'accord... if y-you're Gaston," Lucas said, "G-give us some kind of sign."

"Alright," Gaston set his jaw, "I'm always up for a challenge." He then jumped over to one of the tables, and reached for his gun... dammit, he didn't have a gun anymore. He could probably reach from here-

Swinging a fist by the wall, he managed to knock a pair of antlers off their mount, sending them crashing down over the baker's head... and the room erupted into anarchy. People screamed, ran into each other- the bartender tried to assure everyone it was just the wind, but hell, not even he believed that. Meanwhile, the spectre simply frowned at the splintered mount on the wall, put off by the pristine prize antlers he had to so tragically sacrifice.

Lefou got up amidst the chaos, eyes wide and in awe. "Gaston?" the drunk man breathed. Gaston turned, but Lefou's eyes still seemed to look right past him. The hunter couldn't tell if Lefou was angry or relieved to learn of his possible presence.

Gaston knew he had to find the person who did this to him, and fast.

He looked around the tavern, to find everyone had left. At least he had made some progress... now, to keep at it.


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks were spent knocking over mugs, spilling beer on men's shirts, breaking off antlers and hurling them around. As he became increasingly more frustrated, the disturbances became more frequent and more violent- until rumours and legends began to circulate.

"It's the ghost of Gaston Deveneaux," people would whisper to each other on dark, blustery nights.

"He's back to haunt the village he saved in the war," old wives would pass around in the evenings, "Some can even hear the sound of old army drums in that spooky old tavern, and the sound of his voice with it. Shame- dashing, handsome fellow he was."

"Died mighty unnaturally, he did," others would say, as the breeze howled with the wolves in the distance, "Broke his neck in the fall, and now his spirit's out to take revenge on the soul who pushed him off."

Others, added their own spin: "He jumped to his own death after the princess rejected him one too many times. Had a breakdown, led everyone in a mob to the castle, then just... ended it all."

Of course, there would be a skeptic or two who would just chalk it up to a silly small town legend- but most would start shaking if they even thought of setting foot in there. Gaston was flattered by most of the legends, really- they weren't the kinds of tales he'd particularly wished folks would tell of him after he was gone, but it was something with his name in it at least.

Tonight, Gaston couldn't seem to summon enough energy to break anyone's glasses or cause a disturbance, so he sat in his chair, observing everyone miserably.

Lefou sat in the back of the tavern at his usual spot, slugging back his usual tankard. Gaston almost found it pitiable, but if he knew Lefou, he knew the man hated being pitied.

 _Why was he just drinking his life away like this? His life is precious. He has more than this. He has talent, ambition, more than me, so much more, more than anyone in this damned, god forsaken town. He deserves more than I do, he always did..._ Gaston got up, fists balling. _Why wasn't he doing something? Why did he never say anything when I was alive, god dammit, why didn't he tell me when I could do something about it-_

The hunter pounded against the wall with all the force of his raging emotions, which travelled up and cracked the roof a little. Most of the regular, braver patrons fled as the plaster crumbled down- except one, who was taking her time leaving.

Agathe.

Gaston watched her closely, watched her gathering her ratty skirts up and slowly following the crowd out. Just as Gaston was about to pass her off as the old coot he was sure she still was, just like every other monotonous day in this miserable existence, she gave one last look back... right at him.

As she left, the spectre's eyes widened, a newly invigorating shot of adrenaline coursing through him. Agathe! It was _her_ , how couldn't he have figured that out?!

"Well, I knew it was her," Gaston muttered to the homeless man, who stayed in the tavern, "I knew it all along."

Following her out, Gaston marched right up to Agathe on the steps of the parish.

"You miserable, filthy hag! How dare you do this to me?!"

If she could hear him, she made no indication at all. She continued to feed the birds as Gaston continued around her.

"I know you can hear me. Or see me at least! Answer me at once, or I'll..." He thought for a moment. "I'll drop that jar of jam on your head, you fucking batty crone!"

"You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

Gaston hesitated for a moment, then realized she was speaking to him. "Excuse me?!"

Agathe said no more, though an amused smirk played at her lips.

"You think this is _funny_?" He huffed an incredulous noise. "You like watching me break mugs and ruin my antlers and scream my damn head off, do you? I'm sure it brings immense pleasure to the dull, depraved, horrible life you lead."

Agathe's lips formed a tight line, and she got up.

"Wait!" Gaston stomped after her, right through the middle of a hopscotch game two little girls were having. They wondered how the dust had kicked up and ruined their squares, but Gaston was already on the outskirts of town, still pursuing Agathe. "Get... back... here!"

She walked out into the woods, and Gaston scowled. "Where are you going?" She didn't answer, only kept walking, so the hunter tried to catch up. "Why won't you answer me?! Fucking witch!" He stomped through the herb garden she had growing by her make-do forest home. "Ugly old hag!!"

She eventually stopped, and Gaston felt a strange sensation... as if each fibre of his body was tugging away from one other. After a moment, he noticed Agathe's fist twisting, and felt the fibres pulling so hard they began to tear- he let out an aggrieved scream- he could literally feel himself being ripped apart at the core of his being.

"You call me hag once more," she drawled, turning her head slightly, "I swear by all, I will turn you into a billion particles so that you may float aimlessly and without mass or consciousness for the rest of eternity." Gaston gulped, and shut his mouth. Agathe smiled, releasing her fist. "I'm glad we have an understanding. Do come in, there's tea."

"I-I thought... you were homeless," Gaston murmured carefully, not daring to touch anything in the hollow tree trunk. He rubbed at his chest, and wrinkled his nose.  

"I'm the most powerful Enchantress in Europe. _I'm crafty_ ," she whispered, and Gaston frowned.

"In Europe?"

"You didn't come here to ask me about myself, did you?" she sighed, blinking at him tiredly.

"You know why I came," Gaston replied gravely.

"Yes," she considered, breaking off a chunk of bread someone had given her in town, "But I'd quite like to hear it from you."

"I-!"

"Ah ah," she said, holding up one gnarled finger, "Particles."

Gaston clenched his jaw, and swallowed his pride. "I know something is wrong."

"Imagine that," she replied simply, pouring some water into a small cup.

"You-" Gaston tightened his fist, but one glance from her, he puffed his chest out, crossing his arms. "What do I have to do to lift this awful curse? At least tell me that."

She seemed a little bit confused. "Curse?"

"This curse you've put me under!" Gaston snapped impatiently, "You know? Making me think I've died, making it appear to everyone else I'm gone. Yes, I know I'm supposed to watch everyone's reaction to my death and repent and such, but all I really want to know is how to get back to my body!"

Agathe watched him closely. "Gaston... this is no curse of mine. You fell from great heights that night, with no interference on my part. You've died, and no amount of repentance to me can bring you back."

Gaston blinked. Then he began to laugh- he laughed until he saw Agathe's expression, and paled. "I'm- you can't be- there must be some way," he moved closer to her, realization setting in along with a wave of indescribable panic.

"You're dead," she repeated.

"Then _why_ am I still around? Why did I wake up, and _see my dead body_?!"

She seemed genuinely dumbfounded. "I... don't know much of the spirit world, but I do know that if a spirit has unfinished business in this world, they trap themselves in a purgatory of sorts, unable to move on."

"You're saying I've done this to myself?!" Gaston exclaimed, "Impossible! I'm ready to _move on_ right back to life!"

"And to think," Agathe muttered, "Just months ago, you were ready to kill a prince for the same sorcery you seek now."

"I didn't know he was a prince," Gaston grumbled.

"Would you have spared his life if you did?" she raised an eyebrow, and though Gaston neglected to reply, they both knew the answer. She sighed. "Listen to me. If you wish to be at peace- _really_ bring yourself to rest, and _not_ back to your body- you must make peace with anything and everything you may have held back in life. Then, I could help you... move on."

Gaston was quiet for a moment, processing this. There was only one thing he could possibly be holding back... no, he had already addressed that. There was nothing that could be done about _that_. But-

"Answer me one thing, Agathe. Why do I feel so much... remorse?"

"Mmm," Agathe began ripping apart a small handful of herbs, rubbing them into the cup. "The question everyone always wonders. Why, why, why indeed? Well, let's take a look." She pushed the cup forward. "Drink."

"Revolting," Gaston blurted, pushing it back, but at her wary sunken eyes, he decided to heed her instruction.  As soon as he lifted the cup to his lips and let the unfamiliar liquid run down his throat, he began to hear them; the voices.

_"It's the ones who play hard to get that are always the sweetest prey."_

_"Once the wolves are finished with him, Belle will have no one to protect her but me."_

_"Have you ever seen the inside of a madhouse, Maurice? You wouldn't last a week."_

_"We can't have her running off to warn the beast! Lock her up too."_

_"Did you honestly think she'd want you?"_

_"When we get back to the village, you will marry me, and that beast's head will hang on our w-"_

"I've heard enough," Gaston squeezed his eyes shut, and Agathe sat back, taking the cup.

"But the most heinous of any of your crimes, I think," Agathe began, and Gaston began to protest, but she held up a hand, sprinkling in a new ingredient, "Is this."

She handed him the cup back, but this time, there was an image that faded into view in the liquid. Gaston looked down, and saw Lefou sitting on the edge of his bed, crying.

A lump in his throat formed. "Well... Lefou's always been a sensitive man," Gaston muttered, though he began to feel nauseous again, "Of course he'd be sad that I..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, so he sniffed. "It's not my fault he hasn't gotten over me yet."

"Yet?" Agathe raised an eyebrow. "You think he ever will?" She didn't include 'you egotistical prick' at the end of her sentence, but it was implied by the fire in her eyes. Gaston swallowed, then after a second of swimming thoughts, he cast the cup on the ground, letting the liquid seep out. "I don't have time for this."

"Fine." She threaded her fingers over her lap. "It wouldn't bother me in the slightest if you spent the rest of time wandering this purgatory. Even after finding out how he feels about you."

"What?"

She inclined her head. "You think I don't know?"

Gaston regarded her. "He..." He took a deep breath. "I can't return his feelings." Agathe spent a long time staring at him, and finally shook her head.

"You're ever bit the fool you were when you fell from that turret and died."

Gaston would get angry, but he was drained from the visions. "What do you want me to do?"

"The only thing you can do now. You've died... there's nothing left for you to achieve. So go find him, and make peace with what you discover."

Gaston's throat tightened up. He couldn't... he couldn't just _go_ and interact with Lefou! All he could do was toss objects around and frighten people!

"I don't mean interact," she rolled her eyes, and Gaston looked up in surprise, "I mean go and see him. Truly _see_ him for the first time in your life." She gave a wry smile at her choice of words.

Gaston didn't know what to do. He wanted to go to Lefou, tell him everything was alright, he was okay, he would come back to him... but he couldn't come back to him. And even if he did harbour... feelings of sorts... for Lefou, he was frightened the man would never want to speak to him again, after Gaston's biting last words to him.

It terrified him more than death itself.

"Go on," the Enchantress encouraged, her voice a little gentler this time. Then she touched his hand, and in a flash of golden light, he was in front of Lefou's little cottage.


	4. Chapter 4

Gaston didn't move- he couldn't bring himself to take a step.

 In front of him was the home he had spent many hours in with his dear friend, ever since they were boys and would do their readings together. In all reality, Lefou would do the readings and repeat it all verbally to Gaston as they lay in Lefou's backyard, watching the sky. Gaston remembered, as a boy, always wondering what it would be like to lay in Lefou's lap as his friend brushed through his fingers through his hair... he never acted on this curiosity.

Over the years, it had been a sanctuary for Gaston to go when he had to get out of his own home- when his father would become just a little too stifling, or his mother just a tad too much- then his mother caught pneumonia, and four years later, his father was attacked by a wild boar, so Gaston found himself frequenting Lefou's house even more often as a young adult.

Maybe his own house had been too calm; too quiet. Gaston hated the tension of the quiet, which is probably why he couldn't stand this whole spirit thing.

 He had to do this.

Taking a breath and walking forward, Gaston almost out of habit knocked on the door. Then, concentrating hard, he just about had a fit as he accidentally transported to the other side of the door. _He could do that?_ Here he was, using all of his strength opening doors, when he could have simply done this!?

He looked up, and found Lefou in his kitchen, preparing something. He wasn't bustling around and singing to himself as Gaston always found him doing- he was just trudging through the motions, as if the life had been sucked right out of him.

 _But you're still alive, dammit,_ Gaston wanted to shake him and say. It almost brought him to tears to see Lefou so depressed without him around.

"Lefou?" Gaston tried. He closed his eyes, summoned up all the energy he could, but as he tried again and again, nothing could break the barrier between worlds. The hunter followed Lefou around as he took his few strips of bacon out of the pan and arranged it with three radishes he must have picked in his garden- _dammit, Lefou, since when did radishes compliment bacon? You never did know how to cook very well_ \- but he did so without a peep.

"Lefou, can you hear me?" Gaston tried again. Lefou didn't answer, and Gaston sat down beside him- Lefou looked over for a second, which made Gaston hopeful, but then he just reached for his waistcoat instead. Gaston huffed, leaning back into the couch. He had slept on this couch before.

_While Lefou slept meters away._

"Gaston," Lefou said aloud, and Gaston looked up. This was it, wasn't it? He had finally made contact! "I wish you were here with me."

Gaston's heart fell again, and he wanted to scream as his face twisted in anguish. "I am! I'm here, dear Lefou, I'm _right here_ , can't you feel me?!" he murmured, voice cracking. He tried to take Lefou's hands, but Lefou just drew them back, blowing warm air into them.

He finished his dinner, and trudged to the other room, where he laid in his bed and stared at the painting Tom had made back when he used to dabble in artistry. It was of Gaston and Lefou on horseback, looking rather dashing- Gaston had a goose in his satchel, and Lefou had carrots sticking out of his. Lefou remembered just how pissed off he had been at Tom for adding that detail, and how much of a laugh they had had in revisiting the memory years later.

"God, I miss you," Lefou whispered, breaking down, and buried his face in his pillow, letting out loud sobs into the stuffed, stained material; he didn't want the neighbours to hear him and think he was any more unhappy than how he appeared in public.

 _Surely this can't all be for me,_ Gaston thought to himself. He watched as Lefou took out a book from underneath his bed, trying to busy himself with something. His eyes were red and puffy, but he wiped them, opening the book... it wasn't a terribly long or well-known book, but he was slowly working his way up to more eloquently phrased ones as time went on.

Maybe he would be like Belle one day... always in the library, looking for a new adventure. Gaston found that the comparison made him sick. His pursuit of Belle is what brought on this entire tragedy... it could have so easily been avoided, he began to realize.

"Why was I so, _so_ stupid, Lefou?" Gaston asked out loud, sitting on the other end of the bed, and Lefou peered up at the creak- only for a moment, before he went back to his book.

 Gaston stayed in Lefou's home for a little more than a month. He never bothered to leave- he had done all he needed or ever wanted to out there in the village, and though it peaked his curiosity at times wondering what his tavern looked like now, he remained in the cozy little cottage that smelled and felt of Lefou.

Every day, Lefou would make more of an effort to get out, no matter how much it pained him. Eventually, he began getting out of bed and going for short walks. He would come back with an arm full of groceries sometimes, and then he would pick some herbs and vegetables from his garden to cook with. A mangy, peculiar looking stray cat even followed him home one day, which was one step in the right direction in terms of bringing a little more cheer to the house.

Gaston would watch his friend every day, trying so hard to communicate with him. He tried to do the same thing he did in the tavern- but for some reason, around Lefou, he couldn't summon that level of anger anymore; he only fed off of the sorrowful energy Lefou was giving off.

Gaston noticed how often Lefou had to take a break and calm himself. He also noticed how often he stared at that painting. And every day- every _single_ day- Stanley would drop off a bouquet of condolence flowers. At first, Lefou wouldn't accept them... but over time, he began to open his door once Stanley had left, and plop them in a vase.

Gaston eventually figured out a way that would both get Lefou's attention, and get rid of Stanley's gestures of affection- he would wither the flowers almost immediately. Lefou found this strange at first, then realized that Stanley would be around the very next day anyway to drop off more, so it didn't really matter.

That didn't discourage Gaston. He was determined to find some way to talk to Lefou. 

Finally one night, after weeks of frustration, he attempted something he'd never tried before. He tried messing with the candles.

Lefou lit the candle by his bedside, and the cat, Chat, as Lefou had so originally called her, hopped up on the bed. It was a dark night, and he could hear the wolves howling- Gaston could tell Lefou was in a jittery mood, as he always was on nights like these. When they were children, Lefou would always drag his things over to Gaston's place when the night got like this, and jump into bed with him- they never dared snuggle, but just being in the same bed as Gaston gave Lefou rest.

Now, alone and frightened, Lefou held the blankets up to his chin. He was a grown man, and shouldn't be afraid of the dark, but there was something not quite right about tonight... even having a cat around couldn't ease his discomfort.

The candle flickered as Gaston blew on it. He could do this. He could. He blew again, and the flame began to move with the breath he was summoning. Trying one more time with gusto, Gaston managed to blow the candle out- pitching Lefou's house into complete darkness.

He listened, and heard the small man let out a little 'yeep' of distress. No movement... until:

"Chat?" he called timidly. "Where are you?" Then, not two minutes later, rustling sheets, the sound of a creak, and then Lefou running as fast as he could over to the candle. He struck another match, lighting it, and jumped back into bed. Gaston smirked a little, finding it more than a little amusing how terrified Lefou was, and licked his fingers, concentrating then pinching out the flame again. This time, Lefou cursed, and spent longer waiting under his covers. Then he spoke.

"Is there a ghost... or something? In here? In my house?"

"Yep," Gaston replied, but Lefou didn't hear him.

"'Cause... if there is... j-just know, that I keep a pretty s-scary rake thing underneath my kitchen sink. I could grab it at any time! I mean, I'm sure that wouldn't have any effect on you, since you're... you're a ghost, but... still..." He cleared his throat. "Also, this cat probably has dysentery or something, so you might wanna... stay away."

Gaston rolled his eyes, and decided to try and light the candle again. He closed his eyes, channeling the sheer drive to get Lefou to notice him, and was able to pick up the box of matches. He lit the candle again.

"OKAY, OH MY GOD!" Lefou screeched, pouncing up and flinging himself back against the wall as the cat tore out of the room with a hiss. He was plastered there, chest heaving, and in a better situation, Gaston would have loved the sight of a heaving Lefou, but this was not a better situation, and that was _a_ _completely_ _unwarranted thought._

"Lefou... can you hear me?" Gaston hissed, walking forward. Lefou continued to shudder against the wall. "Can you see me?" He paused by the candlelight, making it flicker. "Lefou?"

Lefou's eyes were trained on the candle in horror. He had no window open in his room- why was it flickering?

"Hello?" he squeaked, and Gaston bore down on him, coming face to face with Lefou, inches apart.

"I'm here," he growled, slamming his palm into the wall beside Lefou's head, "I'm right here. I've always been here. I've never left you." He watched Lefou's face, how close it was to his... they had never been this close, and all he wanted to do, all he ever wanted to do was reach out and stroke him, cup his cheeks and tell him how much he desperately, wholly and truly, never wanted to be without him.

A single tear rolled down Lefou's cheek, and Gaston reached up to wipe it away, his hand simply glancing off uselessly. "It's okay," Gaston's voice was hoarse. "It's okay. It's going to be alright, Lefou. Everything's going to be fine. _I'm_ fine. I'm here. I'm never going to leave you... I just want you to be happy again." He leaned forward, connecting their foreheads, and closed his eyes, choking back a sob.

He could never have this. Any of this. All because of one stupid mistake.

"No," Lefou murmured, and Gaston opened his eyes to see Lefou frowning, staring right back into his brown ones... or where they should be anyway. "He's dead," he whispered, "He's gone. He's not coming back. Stop torturing yourself like this." He wiped his face off. "He's fucking dead. Let him go. Let him _die_."

Gaston felt a surge of energy pass through his body as Lefou pushed himself off the wall, and got back into bed. He couldn't take this any longer. He couldn't.

* * *

 

Thunder crackled above as wolves howled from Gaston's peripherals. He stomped through the woods over slippery roots and jagged branches until he came to the fallen tree he was looking for.

"Agathe!" he yelled, and he saw a figure rouse. He walked up to the trunk, and found her sitting, tending to a fire with her eyes closed.

"Gaston. You're b-"

"Give me a night with him. _One_ night with him. Please, I beg of you. You brought the Be- the _prince_ back, you brought him back, Agathe, _please_ just give me one night!"

"I can't br-"

"Dammit," Gaston cursed, falling to his knees. In life, begging is the last thing he would ever see himself doing for anything or anyone- he'd rather die, quite ironically- but this was no laughing matter anymore. He was beyond all options, and he was desperate.

"Gaston," Agathe said slowly. He looked up at her, hands clasped and eyes wide. She looked down at him, at how pitiable he was- the humility in his composure, in everything he was doing. It was as if he didn't even hear her.

"Please," he chanted, looking down and shaking his head. Tears fell to the dirt, mixing with the rain, just as Lefou's had the night of his death. "Please. Please. I need to see him again. I need to touch him again, please, oh please... I-I love him."

Agathe watched silently, and finally placed both hands on his shoulders. He looked back up, and scrambled back at what he saw- the woman before him was beautiful.

"A-are you...?" Gaston asked, swallowing.

"I am still who you think I am," she whispered, her voice seeming to echo all around him, "But you see- beauty lies within." Gaston gulped for air as he huffed another sob, and she tilted his chin up. "Rise."

The proud hunter stood, and Agathe looked at him. "I will not give you what you desire." Gaston looked ready to collapse again, so she continued on. " _But_... I will give you what you have _asked_ for."

Gaston seemed confused, so Agathe touched his hand again- and suddenly, he was back where he was when he was falling. No air. No breeze. No sound. No feeling. Just... emptiness. Black. Senselessness.

And-

Gaston coughed, feeling the ground beneath his body. His body. His _body_. He sat straight up, and realized where he was. He was back in Villeneuve, right by Lefou's front door... and he could feel the wind on his skin again. 


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was setting in the sky- he wasn't sure how long he had been in that darkness, but it was almost night time now, most likely the day after, so he had to make good use of this time.

 _I must look a mess,_ he thought, and brushed off. He fixed his clothing, but strangely, he didn't spend too long on the rest of his appearance- he just needed to see Lefou, make sure this was real, it was _happening_.

He knocked, first time softly and the next two harder with more confidence. He felt his nerves light up as he heard footsteps, and at the last minute, he grabbed the daily flowers Stanley had left and held them out. Then...

"Gasss..." Lefou's brown doe eyes widened, then rolled back into his head as he fell to the ground. Gaston looked around in a panic, and opted to drop the flowers and drag his companion inside, shutting the door safely. Slinging him over his shoulder, he plunked Lefou down on the couch by the fire, and sighed.

"Lefou, wake up." He frowned impatiently. "Lefou! Wake up!" Lefou roused after a moment, but before he could scream, Gaston placed a hand over his mouth. "It's me."

"Noooo, no no no, they buried you," Lefou breathed. "I-I held your b-body after you fell thirty stories up off a castle. I held you as you _died_ , I watched it ha-"

"Yes yes, I know, I died, I was there, but you see... I didn't. Really." He considered this. "Well, I did, but tonight..." he huffed. "Agathe."

"Agathe?" Lefou blurted, "The beggar woman? The hag?"

"Please don't call her that, I don't feel like getting ripped apart today," Gaston winced. "Yes, she's..." He ran a hand through his hair, and _yes, he could feel his hair,_ "She's a powerful enchantress."

"Pinch me, cat, I'm dreaming," Lefou muttered to the stray, but it didn't even offer so much as a mew as it ran and hid from Gaston.

"You're not dreaming," Gaston whispered, taking Lefou's hand, "She's behind the Beast's curse at the castle." He shook off the explanation. "Listen, I've only got tonight, Lefou. I came to say..." He didn't want to say it, but his eyes told Lefou everything.

"Is it really you?" Lefou mumbled in a small voice, and Gaston wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

"It is. It's me."

Lefou wanted to cry, but he had no tears left. What he did have now, miraculously and absolutely outrageously, was time with the man he loved.

"I c-cried, Gaston. For months, I cried, I drank, I even wanted to die too. But I also never got the chance- to t-tell you," Lefou began, but Gaston shook his head.

"I know everything. Like I said... _I was there."_ Lefou gasped a little, and Gaston stood them both up, keeping him close. "My sweet Lefou... my dear compatriot... my old friend." He took a step back. "I love you as well."

Lefou's eyes closed, and Gaston set his hands on the other man's hips, revelling in the feel of physical contact- he wouldn't be feeling it again once morning came.

"You said you have one night," Lefou whispered, "What happens after that?" Gaston hushed him.

"Don't worry about that. Just worry about right now." The hunter took a deep breath, letting himself enjoy every stir, sensation, emotion as Lefou rocked against him softly. "What is one thing you've always wanted to do with me, and never had the chance?"

Lefou tugged Gaston's hand, and lifted his eyebrows. He then lead the taller man to his bedroom, and Gaston groaned quietly, regarding Lefou's drooping eyelids. No words were exchanged as they carefully undressed each other, taking the time to savour every touch as they finally brought their hands where they needed one another most.

"Gaston," Lefou breathed, "I've wanted you for... for so long."

"I know," Gaston whispered, "It took the fall to finally figure that out, Lefou, but I know." Lefou let out a breath, and looked down.

"I should be angry with you."

"Yes," Gaston whispered, stroking his shoulder. "And you'd have every right to be."

"But... how can I be when you're here? When you're back?" Lefou muttered, and they slotted their lips together again, the gentle sound of their mouths meeting the only noise present in the dimly lit bedroom. Gaston rolled them both over so that Lefou was on top of him. Heads pressed together and noses brushing, their breath came out in short gasps as they got lost in the sensations, stroking each other and running hands up and over any and every dip, curve, and muscle they had ever deprived themself of.

As they neared their climaxes, Lefou whispered everything he had always wished he could tell his best friend since they were children. Gaston enveloped his lips again, swallowing the smaller man's moans as he finally came. Gaston followed seconds later, unable to hold out, and as they both lay silently, the candle beside them flickered.

"That was you too, wasn't it?" Lefou smiled lazily, fading in and out of consciousness.

"Hm?"

"The candle." Gaston fought to keep his eyes open as well, but with Lefou laying on his chest like this, so comfortably, it was an uphill battle.

"Of course," Gaston murmured, voice thick and raspy with sleep, "You weren't listening to me, I had to get creative."

"Even as a spirit, you've gotta be the center of attention," Lefou huffed a soft laugh.

"Well... this time I had a good reason, didn't I?" Gaston muttered indignantly, brushing a lock of chocolate brown hair out of Lefou's face, and his companion giggled, shutting his eyes.

"Yeah. I guess you did."

Gaston watched drowsily as Lefou smiled, nuzzling into him just like the cat on the floor next to them would. His arm found Lefou's torso under the covers, and stared at the man before him until sleep stole him as well.

When Lefou awoke, he found the place beside him in bed no longer warm, and no longer filled.

Wait... it was filled in the first place?

He sat up with a start, cursing himself and his inability to stay awake after sex. Why hadn't they simply laid with each other? They should have used all the time they had...

Something hit him again, but this time it wasn't sadness; no, this was wistfulness. Seeing Gaston's face again, after almost a year of mourning... it was a cruel thing. He even began to wonder if last night happened at all; it didn't make sense. An enchantress? That's what Gaston- or whoever that was- said, wasn't it? Of course, the discovery at the castle came to mind as he pondered the magical plausibility of this, but...

No. It had to be a dream.

Although, how could Lefou explain the pleasurable ache he felt in his body now, and the sharp memory of Gaston's eyes- the eyes of his best friend, eyes he could never forget?

Figments of the imagination. That's the only thing it could be. _I passed out early, had a painfully vivid dream, and now..._

Lefou ran a hand through his hair. He kept seeing things where there was nothing to see. Would he ever truly forget Gaston? A knock at his door. A light thump, and footsteps receding... Stanley had left the flowers.

Was it time to finally accept them?

 


	6. Chapter 6

Black again. Gaston existed in the darkness, waiting for Agathe to help him move on for good- it had been painful leaving Lefou this morning, but it was time. Gaston waited moments more, but she did not come. He waited and waited, until he felt utterly suspended in the vast expanse of nothingness, then... he began to feel something.

A bruise formed around his eye as he let out a cry. One of his legs twisted back, and the bone broke through his skin as his cry morphed into a scream of anguish. He lost his breath as a sharp pain shot up his other leg, one of his arms, and finally, through his neck. He was on the ground now, twitching, writhing. He felt a slash, then the skin on his face was suddenly open, blood gushing out. He could barely see- barely think, as a dull pounding resounded through his head. He tried to lift a finger- he couldn't move it.

 _How could she be so cruel?_ He had begged for death, but not like this. Hadn't he been through enough, having to, watch everyone forget him, watch Lefou all this time, then sleeping peacefully this morning, and leave him?

 _Nobody remembers you,_ Gaston thought to himself, _Nobody cares about you. You were a great hero once, celebrated by all for your bravery and good looks- now you're just a likeness in an old, abandoned tavern._

But now Lefou could move on.

Lefou.

He could almost hear Lefou calling his name.

Gaston _._

_Gaston._

_Gaston-_

"Gaston?!" Lefou cried, cupping his face. Gaston's eyes cracked open, which was barely possible in his injured state, but as he did, he could see his friend's face hovering over his. Peering around a little, he noticed the stone around him- above, the rain falling from the highest turrets of the castle.

"Castle..." Gaston murmured incoherently, head spinning. The throbbing was terrible, and he could barely register what was happening, but he had awakened, to the apparent joy of everyone huddled and around him cheering.

"Yes, we're at the castle," Lefou said slowly, holding a hand behind his head, "Gaston, I..." He bit his lip. "Mon dieu, merci, this is a miracle. I didn't think you had survived the fall."

"You passed out on us a couple of times, monsieur," Stanley admitted, his expression worried.

"But I felt for your heartbeat," Dick smiled proudly, nudging Tom, "So we knew you were still _vivant_." Tom frowned, turning his head slowly to his friend.

"Oh yes, you're a real doctor, Rich. Open a practice, why don't ya?"  

Gaston huffed a breath of disbelief. "What's happened?" he mumbled.

"You... don't remember?" Lefou asked softly. Gaston shook his head, for the sake of an answer, trying not to distract himself with the pounding in his head and Lefou's one loose curl, falling into his face. "You lead us all here, to kill the Beast."

"My god," the hunter marvelled. Was it really the same night? That meant... "I'm- I'm so, _so_ sorry, Lefou... there aren't words-"

"Yeah, yes, I know, just- save it all for later," Lefou muttered, shaking his head adamantly, "Don't work yourself up, you'll start coughing again."

Gaston let himself collapse back into Lefou's arms, still in shock. "I'm back! All of that... those months..."

"Gaston, are you alright?" Jean asked, tilting his head.

"Of course he's not alright, look at him!" Lefou snapped, cradling the fallen man protectively. "He's just plummeted off a tower and survived, and he's obviously a little delusional. Now one of you, go get a carriage for him. I have to take him back to Villeneuve where a _real_ doctor can see to him."

Lefou began to get up promptly to put his plan into effect, but Gaston grabbed his wrist with all the strength he could muster before he could get away.

"Lefou, one more thing," Gaston gasped out, and Lefou knelt back down, nodding.

"Yes? What is it, anything."

Gaston felt tears fill his eyes as he reached up and _felt_ Lefou. He was there... his companion was tangible, and so was his own body. No walking through doors- no more flickering candles in the middle of the night.

 With a smile, Gaston took a breath, and leaned up to press his lips to Lefou's, wrapping his arm around the back of the shorter man's head. Lefou let out a startled, choked out noise, but Gaston paid no mind, continuing the kiss for what felt like eternities.

"I'm never going to leave you again," the hunter whispered, and Lefou pulled back, absolutely star struck.

"You n-never left me in the first place," he mumbled back in confusion and awe, blinking.

"Right," Gaston nodded, sending out a little smile to Agathe, wherever she was, "It seems I never did."

Just then, the clouds parted, and sun began to stream over them. Everyone heard the distant sound of happy shouts, and some of the villagers made their way up to the gardens to see what all the commotion was about. As Lefou helped Gaston into a carriage, Stanley gave the shorter man a friendly nod before joining the others, and Lefou nodded back.

Gaston watched people reunite as the carriage took them back through the woods, and remembered Belle and the Beast- or the prince, and what was to come of them. They had each other, and he had his Lefou- both of them alive- to love for the rest of his life.

"Hey... what did you mean when you said you were _back_?" Lefou asked, giving him a funny look, "I know you're a little out of it, but... where did you think you went, Gaston?"

Gaston looked over at him, and squinted, as if contemplating what to say. After a moment, he shrugged, then winced as the action shifted his broken arm.

"Well... I died, became a ghost, and haunted the village for a year. You nearly drank yourself to death mourning my absence- really, I couldn't blame you, my absence was a travesty- so I moved my happy haunt over to your cottage. Then we had some amazing sex, because of course it was amazing, I was involved, and then I returned here."

Lefou's mouth was open. "And people say you've never read a book in your life."

Gaston cracked a bloody-toothed grin, and Lefou rolled his eyes, stroking his hair. _A ghost? Honestly_. Lefou scoffed- he would never be afraid of a little haunting.

...but that amazing sex sounded pretty good, and they had the rest of their lives to enjoy it.

**END**


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